Stout Vows
by nerdalert123
Summary: Follows Sam and Frodo's relationship from the end of the quest to Frodo's journey to the Gray Havens. They both entertain the thought of love between them while Frodo battles his own sickness.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Sam finished tearing an especially stubborn weed from its bed of earth and tossed it to the side to accompany the others. He hummed to himself happily, the air still warm even as the sun set behind the horizon line, reddening his already rosy cheeks. He quickly brushed his dirtied hands off on his trousers, his mind delving into plans for the coming spring's garden,

"It'll be full of pansies and tulips, perhaps a nice rosebush or two." He thought contently to himself, itching his ear as he surveyed the small plot of land. Sam silently enjoyed his garden, the feel of good earth on his hands again, the clear air of the Shire. All of it a welcome sanctuary after enduring his terrible quest, all the simple beauties of his hometown more precious and dear. Suddenly, a familiar scratching noise permeated through the open window of Bag End, shaking Sam from his idle daydreams. Tentatively he kneeled down into the loamy soil and positioned himself so that he could see just over the window sill and into the Baggins' study. A small smile stretched over his plump face when he saw Frodo out of bed and busily working on his and Bilbo's book. The fading light of sundown played over Frodo's creamy skin, catching and igniting the tips of his ebony hair, highlighting his wide eyes and making them twinkle shamelessly. Frodo continued to scrawl down the vivid recollections, his pen scraping noisily against the parchment until it became a steady hum. He finished the paragraph, slowly placed the quill back in its inkwell and reclined in his chair, wrapping his think blanket ever closer around his shoulders. A slight draft blew in from the open window, smelling of mud and early spring sky. Frodo leaned towards it, soaking in the soft flowering perfume even as the gentle wind chilled him to bone. But as he laid his hand on the shutter he noticed something odd. Golden blonde sprigs of hair poked up from beneath the ridge and as Frodo tilted further he saw two brown eyes peering back up at him.

"Why Samwise, what are you doing down there?" Frodo asked evenly, a smirk tugging at his cheeks. Sam stood swiftly, his mouth opening and closing like a trout caught on a fishing line.

"Well I was just trimming the grass under the window Master Frodo, I swear." Frodo's grin deepened as he watched Sam dart about, picking up his tools and stacking them till they nearly reached his chin.

"That isn't the first time I've heard that Sam. Now do you mean to tell me why you were spying on me?" Frodo asked with a mock tone of disapproval in his voice. Sam's head shot up and his brow knit together fiercely,

"It wasn't like that Mr. Frodo. No, see I wasn't spying on you I was jus' watching over you. I know you haven't been feeling yourself ever since we got back from the quest an' all. And I was-"Sam took a step forward and in his haste dropped his armload of tools on the ground. "Oh blast it all." As he stooped to gather his tools again Frodo's beam was unleashed, he watched Sam angrily tossing his tools into a heap, amused by Sam's frustration.

"I know you weren't spying on me." Frodo called, grasping the shutters in both hands as another gust of wind rushed inside. "I was only teasing you, now why don't you come inside for sup; we're having mushrooms after all." Sam's face brightened at this offer,

"Why I reckon I'd love to sir." Frodo nodded and shut the window as Sam rushed around the side of the house to the door. Quickly, before he entered, Sam straightened his wetskit and buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves. Having made sure his appearance was proper he let himself into Bag End and sat down at the dining table, contently watching as Frodo busied himself with dishing out dinner.

"There you are." Frodo said, pushing a plate of marinated mushrooms in front of Sam, who merrily tucked into the meal.

"Well aren't you going to have anything Master Frodo?" Sam asked his mouth still filled with food. "You really should have something as well, to get back your strength and such." Frodo drew his usual blanket closer around himself and smiled reassuringly back at Sam.

"I'm not very hungry Sam, just awfully cold." Frodo breathed, his face drooping slightly and revealing the fine lines of age and plights, as he secretly thought of his old ring. The warmth that had exuded from it was now gone, lost forever. He looked up at Sam who was returning his gaze, an expression of empathy on his round face. Instantly Frodo felt embarrassment, his desire for the ring apparent on his face. "Now, enough talking Sam dear, eat up." At first, Sam uncertainly obliged, but in the dim candle lit room he began to notice how frail his master truly looked. Frodo's eyes did not shimmer with the absence of sun; they looked back at Sam with a tired gaze, wet and restless under his troubled brow. At this unsettling reminder Sam set down his fork,

"I'm not hungry much either Mister Frodo." He stood and walked his still half filled plate to the sink, "Why don't we go sit by the fire, I wouldn't want you catchin' a chill." Frodo nodded and paced slowly into the next room where he sat heavily in a large armchair, his eyes blankly gazing into the hearth. Sam cast one apologetic glance at his plate of mushrooms and then joined Frodo by the fireplace. "You seem bothered Frodo." Sam noted hesitantly, "Is there anything I could do to help, sir?" Without looking away from the fire Frodo responded,

"Oh, Sam I am no more troubled than usual. I-" The young hobbit stuttered, raising a weak hand to his forehead. "I feel its power Sam. Still it hangs over me, dragging me down with it, for all time." Instantly Sam knew what his master spoke of. The ring had not let Frodo out of its grip; his treasured friend had not been restored to his previous character after their mission. And Gandalf had grudgingly admitted to Sam before that he was not sure if Frodo would ever heal from the wounds he had obtained during the journey. Sam kneeled before Frodo, cutting off his line of vision to the fire. Frodo's brow wrinkled as he looked down into his steadfast friend's eyes. "I fear I will never be free of it Sam. The memories are with me, the burden is with me especially now." Sam took Frodo's hand in his and tenderly stroked it, hoping to comfort the forlorn hobbit.

"I know Mister Frodo, I know. But there are better times ahead. I swear it." Sam's voiced began to rise slightly out of desperation. "You'll have me. I was there with you remember? Till the end. And I still am Mister Frodo, I still am!" Frodo's head tilted to the side, resting against the chair in a bleak slump,

"Quiet Sam." He said halfheartedly, wetting his lips. "You'll wake Bilbo." Sam's cheeks flushed instantly, becoming even more ruddy than usual.

"Sorry Master Frodo." Sam uttered at last. Expectantly Sam watched for Frodo's response but he did nothing for some time. Just as Sam was getting ready to excuse himself and prepare to go home Frodo firmly squeezed Sam's hand.

"Promise Sam." He said, his eyelids closing with a lethargic flutter. "Promise, you'll stay with me till the end." Sam's jaw tightened as he attempted to evade the tears that were forming.

"I promise Mister Frodo." And with that Frodo nodded off into sleep, a faint smile trailing on his lips as he slid out into dreams. Time passed quickly into night and Sam's own eyes began to feel heavy with drowsiness. "I promise to be with you_."_ Sam swore under his breath as he laid his head in Frodo's lap, slumber finally enveloping them both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Sam was abruptly awoken by someone shaking his shoulder and an annoying light shining through his eyelids. Grudgingly, he blinked away slumber and looked up at his disturber.

"Frodo has taken ill Sam, he's asking for you." Bilbo said shakily, holding a lamp close to Sam's bleary eyed face. The older hobbit led him into the next room where Frodo lay in bed; his milky skin flushed light pink, fine beads of sweat covering his fair face. Sam looked at his master anxiously, not knowing whether to run and fetch a healer or to rush to his bedside and comfort him.

"What's the matter with Frodo?" He finally asked, his voice catching in his throat as Frodo wheezed and clutched the white bed sheet in his small hands.

"It is the anniversary of his wound Sam. He feels the weight of his bad health now more than ever." The elder hobbit placed a wrinkled hand on Sam's shoulder in encouragement. "Do not worry, this is not the first time it has happened. It must pass Sam; all we can do now is calm him." Suddenly, Frodo's eyes shot open and his breathing became labored and shallow

"Sam." Frodo called weakly, his eyes misty and unfocused. Sam watched in dismay, unable to move from the spot with fear. But soon, Bilbo nudged him towards the bed and silently took his own leave. Frodo's lips were dry and parted, his brow wrinkled and eyes wandering off point.

"Yes Mr Frodo, I'm 'ere." Sam said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Frodo's slick hand in his own. "I'm 'ere." He brushed the moist hairs from Frodo's forehead, his hand gliding over Frodo's feverish skin.

"I can feel it Sam." Frodo began, "I can feel it as if it were the very moment the knife plunged into me." He said touching his chest gingerly. "And I feel its weight Sam. The ring," Frodo breathed, his eyes widening from a swift burst of pain. "It still has me in its clutches; I'll never be rid of it!" Frodo sobbed, his torso heaving as he struggled to steady his own breath.

"No Frodo, you're here with me. You're here with your Sam." Sam murmured, stroking Frodo's limp hand tenderly. Frodo lifted his gaze to Sam's gradually and his breathing began to come in constant waves. Soon enough his forehead smoothed and his mouth closed into a placid, even line. Rest came inevitably for the ill Hobbit and again he coasted away, his eyes shutting in relief. Sam stayed at his side, his heart troubled still by Frodo's sudden spell of sickness. He reached up and touched the drowsing hobbit's temple and to his surprise it was free of fever and instead cool as fresh milk. He skimmed the sweaty hairs away from Frodo's eyes and carefully wiped his face with a linen cloth, the rosy skin bit by bit returning to its natural tone. Sam watched Frodo's chest rise and fall in steady time and pulled up the blanket to his master's chin, fondly tucking in the edges around his sleeping form. "My dear Frodo, how did we end up like this? You sickly after all we've been through and me," Sam chuckled bitterly to himself, "And me a coward after all this time. Can't even tell you how much…" Sam stopped himself, feeling quite foolish all of a sudden. But when he was certain Frodo was doing quite well, he stooped down and placed a brief kiss on Frodo's cheek. The delicate hairs crowning Frodo's face tickling his nose, the soft skin of his face brushing against his own as he pulled away. He gazed down at Frodo, utterly captivated by him, by his courage and determination, his gentleness and charm. A complacent Sam snuggled down into the blanket beside Frodo where he planned to keep watch until his master awoke. But being a hobbit, Sam soon fell asleep as well, completely unawares to the fact that Frodo had yet to fall in unconsciousness beside him.

The next morning Frodo awoke quite early, his head turning with uneasiness. But despite his inner puzzlement he felt healthier, stronger than the day before. The daylight rushed in through a small window to front of the bed, bathing both Frodo and Sam in its light. As Frodo thought to himself about the night before he was shocked by an unexpected roar to his right. The little hobbit turned onto his back and looked over at Sam who was splayed over more than half of the bed, leaving Frodo only a small portion to lie on. He continued to snore, his mouth open in complete ease, his hair muddled from the night's sleep. Frodo's mind wheeled back to the night before, Sam's loyal watch, his gentle kiss. Noiselessly, he observed the other hobbit, his golden hair shining in the sunshine. His warm face bathed in ample rays, his strong figure conditioned to hard work, his calloused hands. Frodo knew that he loved Sam, for staying with him through thick and thin, for helping him to finish what had to be done, but did it only amount to that? Or could it be something else as well. Before Frodo could come to any understanding Sam's eyes opened and he rubbed his face groggily.

"Good morning Sam." Frodo said evenly, a smile spreading from his face to Sam's.

"I'm sorry sir; I hadn't realized that I'd fallen asleep." Sam laughed uncertainly, "I'll just be off then, seeing as you're faring better now. " But before Sam could even begin to sit up, much less hurry out to the garden, Frodo leaned towards him. He bent close enough to smell the fresh earth on Sam's clothes, the spring breeze on his hair and then placed a feather light kiss on his pink lips. The contact was fleeting and naive at first but then Frodo leaned in again, holding the kiss longer this time. At first Sam's eyes were large with disbelief, but they shut as he eased into the touch, his mouth opening along with Frodo's. The kiss stretched on, rhythmic and fervent, leisurely tongues intertwining and exploring. Frodo's hand roamed up to Sam's strong back where he caressed and scouted the new terrain. As their kissing deepened Frodo's hand relocated to Sam's broad chest where it eagerly searched for fastenings. Sam pulled away suddenly,

"I'm sorry Mister Frodo but I don't think you're feelin' yourself right now. I best leave you to recover-" Sam made to move away but Frodo caught his arm and guided him back.  
>"I feel quite well Sam." Frodo said, smiling sincerely back at him, his lips reddened and damp Sam looked on, his eyes exposing his evident confusion.<p>

"All this seems like a dream, long hoped for but…" His speech broke off and he swallowed thickly. "I just don't seem to understand Mr Frodo." Frodo was silent for a while, his eyes downcast at the white sheets, his fingers trailing across the plush material in thought.

"I'm not sure I understand either Sam." He finally said his hand searching for Sam's once more. "What I do know is that you are dear to me as a friend." Frodo turned Sam's hand over in his own, "And I think I'm ready to admit. That-"He looked straight at Sam, wary of his response. "That I love you as more." Both hobbits sat in silence for quite some time. Quiet acceptance sank over them and individually they considered the previous events. They sat like this on the bed, still twisted in blankets, basking the bright morning light, in perfect ease. Sam's hand now cradling Frodo's, his hand sturdily holding onto the fair hobbit as he turned feelings over in his mind. He gazed at Frodo and despite what he had said, still an inner flicker of doubt caught on Sam's tongue. Frodo's skin was smooth as new cream, his hair dark as roasted chestnuts, his eyes blue as the first flowers of spring. Inwardly, Sam wanted to trust what his master had said, but when he looked from Frodo to himself it seemed that there had been some mistake, he was not worthy of Frodo's affection. Not with his hands rough from years of gardening, his face, tanned and tired from years in the sun, his eyes brown as the tilled earth. As he thought he felt Frodo's gaze on him, hovering over his body in admiration.

"What're you doin' Mister Frodo, just lookin' at me like that?" Sam asked, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably. "I'm not much to look at I'm afraid." Frodo looked offended, his eyes narrowed and his mouth searched unsuccessfully for words. When he could find none he instead reached up and stroked Sam's jaw lightly before pulling him close. Frodo touched his forehead to his own and nuzzled his nose against Sam's warmly,

"But you are Sam." Frodo whispered, looking at Sam who was stubbornly avoiding Frodo's gaze. Frodo cupped Sam's cheeks in both hands and tilted his chin upwards, Sam's stare finally meeting his own. "I love you Samwise Gamgee." Frodo shut his eyes and buried himself in Sam's shoulder, "I love you." Sam felt the tears start in his eyes and allowed himself to hug Frodo close, his hand finding its spot at the back of Frodo's head, holding him close.

"And I love you." Sam answered, his heart glowing in a moment of pure courage.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

In the next weeks that followed, Frodo's health began to improve. The spring furthered into an early summer, the trees were heavy with fruit, the gardens laden with vegetables, and Sam was busy with tending to his flourishing land. In the time that he was not busy dirtying his hands he rarely left Frodo's side. Much of the time they spent together was spent in silence, neither hobbit felt the need to say anything more than what had been said. And the affection they did wish to express manifested itself in light pecks, brief touches, and quiet pleasure in each other's company (in secret of course.) Otherwise they kept up their general conversation, about the weather and of the Shire's gossip but the significant points always seemed to be neglected. That is until Bilbo one day announced that he would leaving for a brief visit to Rivendell.

"When do you plan to leave?" Frodo asked his hands busy buttering the last remaining scone of breakfast. Bilbo sighed and sipped his dwindling tea keenly,

"I suppose I best be getting an early start Frodo m'lad and be off after breakfast." Sam, who was washing the previous night's dishes, looked up in surprise.

"But Bilbo you've only just told us! Do you really mean to leave that soon?" He asked, not daring to look for Frodo's reaction to the news. Bilbo laughed heartily at Sam's alarm and took another extensive sip of tea.

"Why yes Master Gamgee. But I won't be gone long. Perhaps a month at the most." Uncertainly Sam looked over at Frodo, who to his surprise was gazing over at him, a guiltless smirk resting between his cheeks and a playful spark in his eye.

"You'll be sorely missed Bilbo." Frodo said his eyes still cast over towards Sam whose plump cheeks were growing redder every moment. Sam ducked down his head and tried to focus on the dishes, his blush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Yes well, I've got some important business I need to tend to with the help of our elfish friends. I shall be sure to give them your best wishes." Said the old hobbit as he stood and pushed in his chair, stooping down to drain his cup of the last drops of tea. "I'd best be off then lads! The sun will not wait to set for the likes of me and it is a long road to Rivendell." He set down his cup and hurried over to Frodo, wrapped his arms around him and gave him a grand hug. "Goodbye Frodo, I shall write to you and be back as soon as I am able." Then Bilbo turned to Sam, a wide grin in tow. "Master Gamgee, I trust you will take good care of our Frodo while I am away." Bilbo patted Sam gruffly on the shoulder and smiled, something in his eyes appearing to understand more than he would admit. Sam was taken aback, his mouth flopping open in surprise.

"I- I will." Was all that Sam could think of to say, his heart beat rumbling in his ears as he spoke. Bilbo hurried about, swinging a weathered pack onto his shoulder and gathering his favorite walking stick from beside the door.

"Farewell lads!" Bilbo called as he opened the door and sniffed the morning air, his hair satisfyingly ruffled by a warm breeze, still smelling of morning dew. And with a nod he departed, briskly shutting the door behind him. Sam and Frodo sat in silence, neither quite sure of what to do with their newfound freedom. Slowly, Bilbo's whistling faded further and further away into the distance leaving an aching silence in the hobbit hole. Sam cleared his throat loudly and set the last dish on the counter.

"Well…" He breathed; wiping his hands on his trousers as he desperately searched his mind for what to say. Frodo sat in his own seat, watching Sam as he pretended to be busying himself with organizing the plates.

"What now?" Frodo asked aloud, not sure if he meant for it to be an inward thought or an honest question. Sam looked over, an expression of struggle on his face, his brow knitting in frustration. He looked Frodo up and down, not sure of his next move, but horribly aware of what he wished to do.

"Mister Frodo. I'd like to…" His words failed him and instead he strode forward, halting suddenly just before Frodo. Uncertainly Frodo stood,

"Don't call me Mister Frodo, Sam. Call me Frodo; I've known you for far too long to have these formalities." Sam swallowed thickly and gritted his jaw in resolve, his hands unfurling at his sides. He reached forward and stroked Frodo's cheek, the soft skin yielding at his contact like fresh bread.

"Frodo." Sam murmured, testing the weight of the new name on his tongue, it felt light and full of promise like the sweetness of honey, the savory tang of berries, the rich delight of wine. And suddenly, like a spark bursting into flame Sam lunged forward and launched into a kiss with Frodo. His forehead wrinkled in passion, his hands frantically gripping onto Frodo's back, pressing the smaller hobbit tight to himself. Sam memorized the taste of Frodo's lips, his smell as he took deep gulping breaths between kisses, his feel as he searched for purchase in his hair. Ardently his pulled apart from Frodo, still cradling his head in his broad hands,

"Frodo," Sam started, his breath uneven in urgency, "Do you want to be with me? I- I mean is this what you want?" He barely had to wait for Frodo's response, who nodded instantly and broke into a watery laugh, his eyes wrinkling at the edges with happiness.

"My dear Sam, of course I do." And at that Sam began to laugh as well, pressing his lips to Frodo's fervently, his eyes swimming with tears.

"I'm glad Frodo." Sam blurted out, his deep brown eyes gazing at Frodo in sincere joy. Frodo pulled Sam down the small hall off the kitchen that led to his bedroom. As soon as Sam realized where they were going his insides leapt into turmoil, excitement and hesitance boiling underneath his ribs. Frodo opened the door to his room and quickly began to unbutton his wetskit, tossing it aside as soon as he finished. He turned towards Sam who was standing awkwardly in front of the door, a tiny smile etched into his features. Frodo advanced towards Sam, a certain fervor and vivacity coursing through his body. He kissed Sam once and then began to unbutton his shirt, pulling the material away keenly. He sighed softly as he felt Sam beginning to undo his shirt as well, Frodo melted into Sam's embrace, like a pad of butter on a hot muffin. The two stumbled awkwardly over to the bed, still wrapped in each other's arms, curiosity and need dictating their every move. Frodo fell back onto the lush surface underneath Sam, his brow furrowing as Sam pulled away.

"What're you doing Sam?" Frodo asked, his breath coming in gasps, his rosy lips parted as easily as a river rolling downstream. Sam looked down at the fair hobbit, across the smooth canvas of flesh past a long silvery scar to one that was lower on his abdomen. This one was purpled about the edges, it looked sore and irritated: the anniversary scar. Sam was suddenly barraged by memories of their journey, of the hardships, of these wounds that Frodo would carry for the rest of his existence. A desperate pang came over Sam; he needed to be close to Frodo, to love him, make him whole if he possibly could. He needed to be inside him. He trailed wet pecks down Frodo's neck, his hands caressing the skin as they passed. Frodo moaned gently above, his hands weaving in and out of Sam's silky locks. Sam felt such a horrible mix of lust and pain that he could make no sense of it; he urgently pushed away the memories of their voyage, pushing past to the present. He looked up at Frodo whose eyes were closed delicately and fluttering, his mouth open and his head tilted back. Sam ran his hand down Frodo's chest and stomach and then stopped, lightly acknowledging the growing lump in his pants. Unconsciously, Frodo bucked into Sam's touch, a small whimper escaping his lips. In understanding Sam caressed the spot and leaned forward to Frodo's ear,

"I need to be close to you Frodo." Frodo's breath caught as Sam slipped his balmy hand under his waistband, "I need to love you." Frodo nodded, proceeding to quickly shed his remaining clothes and flopped down onto the bed, watching as Sam stripped down as well. As soon as he was bare a blush crept onto Sam's face, he climbed clumsily onto the bed beside Frodo and together they fell into their instinctual positions. Sam ran his hands down Frodo's back as he knelt in front of him, a shiver cascading down Frodo's spine. Tenderly, Sam bent him forward and then lightly nipped the skin on his shoulder blade, his finger carefully preparing him for entry. Frodo gasped and guided his own hand down to his throbbing need. The rest felt instinctual, animalistic and primal, all blending together in a rush of heat and longing. Sam pushed himself into Frodo, wincing in pleasure, Frodo arching his back in reaction. There he fell into a steady rhythm, one hand placed on Frodo's waist as anchorage the other reached around, stroking Frodo into rapture. As they began to reach the end, Sam pulsed hard and fast, his head swimming in simple pleasure. Frodo threw back his head, breathing hard, decorating the silence with his groans. Sam felt himself reaching climax, he fell into the abyss of delight, giving himself over to all that he had long prayed for. In the pure moments that followed after he fell onto the bed next to Frodo and pulled him into a clammy embrace, his eyes still closed.

"I love you." He said, planting a kiss on Frodo's forehead, "Oh, I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

As summer swelled to its full height, the flowers burst into bloom, the birds trilled gladly, and Frodo and Sam grew closer with every passing day. Frodo flourished in his happiness with Sam, barely bothered at all by his wounds. Sam rarely left Bag End and soon he and Frodo fell into a routine, rejoicing in every moment they spent in each other's company. Sam would often tend to his garden, Frodo contently reading a book in the grass at his side. They ate dinner together and often times fell asleep beside the hearth nestled together, retelling tales and speaking of wishes. Soon summer was half gone and a small celebration was held in Hobbiton in honor of Sam's sister, Daisy's birthday.

Frodo buttoned his favorite wetskit and tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, eyeing himself in the mirror all the while. He noticed that he looked improved, no longer eerily thin and pale, but lean and rosy cheeked. Frodo nodded appreciatively at himself and smiled, feeling quite in the mood for a celebration.

"You are looking quite handsome tonight Mr. Frodo." He remarked to himself and began to sing a lofty tune under his breath. As he was fastening his belt around his waist Sam came up behind him dressed in his best jacket and trousers.

"Hello, m'love." Sam said, chuckling as Frodo jumped in surprise. "You needn't be afraid dear, it's just me." Frodo looked back, his eyes still wide with shock.

"You frightened me." He mumbled, fiddling with his belt, a blush reaching the tips of his ears. Sam laughed and embraced him,

"I'm sorry Frodo." He tilted Frodo's chin up and kissed him sweetly on the lips, "You are right though, you do look wonderful tonight." Frodo grinned and pulled away, dipping his hand into the wash basin and splashing water over his face.

"Do you really think so?" Frodo asked shyly, peeking over his shoulder at Sam. In response, Sam reached for his hand, fitting it in his own effortlessly.

"Without a doubt." Sam breathed, resting his cheek atop Frodo's head, nestled in the thick curls.

A cheery jig thrummed behind Frodo and Sam, guests around them danced and twirled, their feet stomping in the plush grass. The two hobbits sat a table, their mugs filled to the brim with frothing ale, their feet merrily tapping along to the beat. Sam watched as his sister danced with a portly hobbit, her golden hair was tied up with flowers and she was laced into a fine red party dress. He reckoned she had never looked prettier and the plump hobbit seemed to agree as he presented her a large flower. Sam grimaced and took another swig of ale, watching as the hobbit bowed in grandeur and kissed Daisy's hand.

"Ay you, don't get too friendly with my sister." Sam muttered under his breath, taking a long guzzle of drink. Frodo giggled, his face flushed from the ale and his eyes twinkling in the lantern's light.

"Oh Sam aren't you having fun?" He asked, gazing out into the cheerful crowd, nodding his head to the song. Sam didn't respond for he was too keen on watching his sister's suitor and making sure he kept in line. The hobbit backed away into the crowd as Daisy was swept up by another lad and Sam thought silently _good riddance_. He reached for his drink again and began to gulp it down when he felt something brush against his foot. Hastily, he looked under the table, expecting to see a child making mischief, but there was nothing. Grumbling he lifted his ale to his lips again and this time almost choked on the amber liquid. Something rubbed against his leg again, this time for longer. Sam looked over at Frodo who was surveying the crowd, a small smirk twisting the edge of his lips.

"Frodo Baggins," Sam whispered, leaning closer to the swaying hobbit, "You are a wicked thing m'love." Suddenly Sam felt a tap on his shoulder and there stood a lovely young woman, dressed in a blue frock, delicate flowers woven in among her yellow locks.

"Would you like a dance Sam?" Rosie Cotton asked, a hopeful smile lay across her pink lips. Sam frowned, quickly trying to find an excuse.

"Of course!" Frodo called, jabbing Sam in the side, "Well go on Sam, dance with her!" Frowning, Sam clumsily got to his feet and took Rosie's hand. They soon were swept off into the dancing crowd and Frodo watched them, clapping along with the beat. Sam continued to cast sidelong glances at Frodo while Rosie talked warmly about the party, Frodo shook his head and laughed at Sam's gaze, mouthing _have fun_. So reluctantly Sam turned his attention to Rosie, even daring to give her dancing a well deserved compliment. When the song ended Sam all but ran back to Frodo's side, breathing hard he finished Frodo's mug off for him.

"You really are a devil." He said, playfully thumping Frodo in the ribs.

"Oh am I?" Frodo shot back, mischievously ruffling Sam's hair. "Well you aren't exactly a saint Samwise." The two laughed heartily and stood to refill their cups of ale.

Frodo and Sam stumbled home late that night, both pleasantly warm with ale and rich wine. They headed inside and plopped onto the floor, Sam lying down and Frodo's head resting on his chest. Sam's eyes fluttered shut and he lay, warm and quite full, his hand intertwined in Frodo's. He allowed himself to daydream as he rested. Frodo hummed a tune and aimlessly traced Sam's features with a touch as light as elven feet. Soon Frodo began to lazily sing, his voice breathy and light.

An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo  
>Ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë<br>Ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë  
>Ar sindanóriello caita mornië<br>I falmalinnar imbë met,  
>Ar hísië untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.<br>Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!

Frodo finished, trailing off into silence, only the crackling fire left singing. Sam opened his eyes to looked down at Frodo,

"The elves." Sam breathed, stroking Frodo's cheek as he spoke, "Oh what a sight they were to see, aye Frodo? All of 'em so fair and graceful, more beautiful than anything I reckon I've ever seen." Frodo sighed and nuzzled into Sam's chest, the firelight playing across his face. Sam looked into down into Frodo's eyes, pure and clear as gurgling brook. "But you Frodo," Sam whispered fondly, "You are fairer than any elf could hope to be. I would trade any of 'em for you, I would." Frodo raised himself onto an elbow, beaming.

"Stop it Sam. I know how much you wanted to see the elves. I wouldn't blame you if you traded me for one."

"No! I would never!" Sam said eagerly, sitting up and pressing his forehead against Frodo's. "I would never. Why do I need any of 'em when I have all the beauty in the world right 'ere?" Frodo smiled and kissed Sam softly, his lips tasting of sweet wine. Sam ran his tongue against Frodo's lip and leaned awkwardly into the kiss, his head still swimming from the ale. As they embraced Frodo noticed Sam's swaying and pushed him gently down to the floor, instead straddling Sam's waist and kissing down his neck. Sam breathed out heavily as Frodo ran his warm tongue down Sam's jaw line.

"Take off your shirt." Frodo ordered as he did the same. Sam fumbled at the buttons and successfully managed to unfasten two before Frodo decided to help. Frodo skimmed his hands down Sam's chest, leaving a scattered trail of kisses where he pleased. Soon Sam was moaning quietly in satisfaction and Frodo unfastened his leather belt and pushed the trousers down over Sam's hips. Frodo knelt and kissed Sam's hips and inner thighs, teasing him unnecessarily. Only when Sam began to buck with need did Frodo turn his attention to Sam's firm shaft. Frodo stroked him tenderly, keeping careful watch over Sam's face all the way, eagerly looking for pleasure.

"Frodo." Sam panted, his face contorting in enjoyment, his breath coming quickly and in short bursts. As he neared completion, Sam groaned enthusiastically, his hips bucking under Frodo's hands and his hands flexing at his sides. Frodo carefully milked his member, slowing down his strokes, enticing Sam with every caress. Soon, Sam finished, his toes curling in satisfaction. Frodo stooped down and kissed him fleetingly, before hurrying off for a hot towel.

When Frodo returned he passed the towel to Sam who happily accepted and cleaned himself off. Frodo lay back down beside Sam, sighing as Sam rolled over towards him, fastening his trousers. They spent the next few moments in silence, looking at each other, their fingers laced in an idle clasp.

"When we were out there," Sam began, half lidded and calm, "I sometimes felt like giving up on you. But I'd say 'No Sam, you've got to do it for Mister Frodo.' And I did, cause every time I felt like leavin' I'd dream of the life we could have together, in happier times once our deed was done." Sam squeezed Frodo's hand once and then continued on, his face illuminated by the crackling hearth's flames. "And now I see it was all worth it. Now that I'm with you it all seems distant. Like a bad dream that's just passed over…" His voice trailed off and he looked down at Frodo's hand, resting inside his own toughened palm. "It's strange really. That we could have each other, something so beautiful after all the ugliness we've seen. That I could 'ave you after all we've been through." A passage of time went in which silence prevailed, both sat, merely thinking. Not feeling the need to say anything; for that moment each other's company was enough.

"Thank you for not giving up on me." Frodo murmured, not sure how to explain his gratefulness. "I wouldn't have made it without you Sam." He looked up into Sam's dark brown eyes, his voice shaky. " I never want you to go. I never want to have to be without you again." He leaned forward and rubbed his nose against Sam's tenderly. "Even when Bilbo returns. Will you stay here? We could make a home together, just you and I." Sam's mouth opened in shock, his cheeks flushing in excitement. "Would you Sam?"

"Would I?" Sam babbled, pulling Frodo roughly into an embrace, "Of course I would my dear. Of course." Frodo placed his hands on Sam's cheeks, surveying his face,

"My Sam. My dear Sam." He said, pulling Sam tighter and burying his face against his shoulder. " You have made me so happy. I love you so."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

As the end of summer approached and the sun set sooner, Frodo and Sam carried on together, joyful as ever. They had sent for some of Sam's belongings and were in the process of moving him into Bag End where they had grown accustomed to each other's company. The two hobbits fell asleep in each other's arms and woke still entangled in an unconscious embrace. They spent long uneventful mornings eating breakfast together and then smoking their pipes on the lawn. They strolled around town on warm summer nights, sometimes, when no one was about, even daring to hold hands for a stretch of road. All seemed well, a perfect ending to both of their long struggle. But just as they had begun to feel content, an obstacle arose.

Frodo hummed loftily to himself, removing his light linen shirt and dropping on the bathroom floor. The bath water let off steam into the air, clouding the windows and warming Frodo's bare chest. He removed his trousers and hesitantly stepped into the bath, testing its temperature before seating himself in the warm water. Frodo stretched out in the tub, unfurling his toes in pleasure, relaxing in the soothing atmosphere. He let out a long, comfortable sigh and reached for the bar of soap, lathering it between his hands. As the bubbles filled his hands he rubbed his back, washing his tight muscles in lazy circles. All the while, he hummed to himself, singing detached lyrics as he pleased, reciting Bilbo's poems and elvish songs. Again, he filled his palm with suds and began to wash his chest, shutting his eyes in complete ease. Suddenly, Frodo's hand jumped away from his bare flesh, a brief ache throbbing where he had touched. Hesitantly, Frodo looked down at the spot, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. His hands fell away as he saw an angry bruise had bloomed on his ribcage, staining the flesh around it a sickly violet grey. Instinctively, Frodo doubted his eyes, a hard lump swelling in his throat. He raised himself from the tub and hurried over to the mirror, a white towel pressed against the tender wound.

"Please, no. Please, not now." Frodo whispered, as he lowered the towel and gazed into the mirror. As the white cloth fell away the truth was evident. Frodo knew that this meant that his illness would return soon, another anniversary approached. Around his scar a deep purple tint had begun to form, outlining the silvery mark and twisting onto the porcelain flesh around it. Frodo leaned against the wall, his breath coming in shallow waves and the corners of his eyes pierced with tears. His thoughts immediately shot to Sam, his kind face, golden curls, and his unwavering love. Frodo could only think ahead, to when his sickness would envelope him again, to when dark nights of fever and pain would leave him exhausted, to when incessant torrents of guilt and lust for the ring would grasp him again. Frodo moved in front of the mirror again and eyed the tender scar. It still hung heavy on his skin, glaring back at him from his reflection. Just as Frodo began to reach up to the scar to test its tenderness, a sharp rap was placed on the door.

"Frodo?" Sam called from behind the oak frame, "I've brought you some warm towels, dear." Before Sam could enter Frodo had snatched up a towel from the floor and pressed it to his chest, silently promising to himself that he would not tell Sam until he had to. He couldn't bear to see Sam hurt because of him again. Not now at least. Sam entered and placed the towels down on the floor, smiling at Frodo all the while.

"You're done so soon love?" Sam asked, as Frodo wrapped another towel around himself, avoiding Sam's gaze.

"Yes," Frodo answered, heading into the next room quickly, "I've just realized that I have too much left to do today to relax." Frodo pulled a fresh shirt from his dresser, turning his back to Sam as he followed him into the bedroom.

"Don't be silly. You need to relax sometimes." Sam said calmly, leaning against the doorframe. "I can do the work you need tendin' to for today." Frodo sighed and hesitantly dropped his towel, beginning to dress himself, making sure Sam caught no glimpse of his chest. Sam stepped into the room and sat on the bed, crossing his legs,

"But o' course I could help you relax in other ways." He offered shyly, his cheeks blushing at his own audacious suggestion. Frodo buckled his pants and turned towards Sam,

"I'm rather tired today Sam." Frodo began to head for the door but Sam caught him around the waist on his way out, playfully sitting Frodo on his knee and nuzzling into his neck. Frodo pulled free of Sam's hold swiftly and backed up to the door, his brow contracted with worry. "I'm sorry Sam. Just not today." When Frodo had left Sam wrinkled his lined brow in confusion.

"What's the matter with him?" Sam mumbled to himself, feeling slightly insulted by Frodo's refusal. After some deliberation Sam went out to work on the garden, watching suspiciously through the window as Frodo sat in the study, not doing much of anything at all.

A week passed in the Shire, Sam's uncertainty growing with each passing day. Frodo had begun distancing himself increasingly. Saying he had to write and then sitting in his study for hours, finishing only a sentence or two. Filling the rest of the time staring off into space, a troubled expression lying heavily on his brow. He had also been reluctant to make love, every time swearing that he was too tired or busy. Sam had begun to wonder if it was his own fault that Frodo was so detached and grew anxious, doubting himself at every moment.

Sam turned in the feather bed, his mind too awake for sleep; wandering amongst his worries, winding in and out of memories. He shifted towards Frodo and noticed his eyes were also open.

"Frodo?" Sam whispered, rolling onto his side. Frodo turned his back to Sam and sighed,

"What is it, Sam?" Sam bit his lip, Frodo's tone of exasperation knotting his stomach. He reached out and placed his hand on Frodo's shoulder. After a few moments Frodo shrugged free of Sam's touch, curling into the blankets further. Sam sat up in the bed, his jaw grinding in frustration for moment before he reached out again, this time placing his hand on Frodo's cheek. Frodo grimaced at the touch, his brow furrowing as he brushed Sam's hand away, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. Sam felt anger turning in his stomach, confusion tying his tongue, what had he done wrong? In a swift movement Frodo sat up and tore away the covers, but as he moved towards the edge of the bed Sam caught his arm and guided him back. Frodo turned towards Sam, fat tears stuck in his eyes, his lips parted and downturned as he searched for what to say. Abruptly, Sam kissed Frodo hard on the mouth, holding him close as he tried to shrink away. He clutched onto Frodo's hair, bumping their foreheads together, Frodo's lips brushed against Sam's, his eyes downcast. Frodo struggled in Sam's grasp once more, trying to disentangle himself and grunting in frustration. Despite his fight Frodo fell back onto the mattress, Sam's weight pinning him down, arms to his side, completely vulnerable. Sam began to kiss Frodo's neck hungrily, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands pressed down fervently on his chest, groping the skin. Frodo winced, tears spilling from his closed eyes,

"Sam, stop please." He murmured, Sam continuing on, his breath beginning to shake with sobs as he pressed his lips to Frodo's cheek, his mouth contorting as he wept.

"What'd I do wrong?" Sam sobbed, lifting his face and staring into Frodo's clear, blue eyes. Frodo remained silent, tears cascading down his cheeks as he turned away from Sam. "Tell me," Sam forced out, his hands fondling Frodo's shirt buttons. "Why won't you let me love you?" Frodo remained quiet, his eyes searching the far corner of the room aimlessly. "Gimme an answer, Frodo!" Sam shouted, his eyes desperate and his hands moving, unbuttoning the first fastenings of Frodo's shirt. "Please." Sam breathed as he began to pull away the cloth from Frodo's chest. Frodo's mouth opened and closed lamely,

"Sam," Frodo whispered, arching his back under Sam's pinning force in an attempt of escape, "Please don't." Sam kissed down Frodo's pale chest his tears marking a trail as he descended. Slowly, Sam's eyes fluttered open, his lips brushing against a rough patch of skin. As Sam looked down upon the angry sore Frodo began to openly weep, his chest heaving as he wrenched his arms free of Sam's clutches. Sam looked down at the purpling wound, the dark inky tendrils of sickness branching off and covering Frodo's breast.

"Frodo," Sam choked out, beginning to cry in earnest, "You're ill?" Frodo covered his eyes with his hands, his mouth pulled into aching grimace. "Well, I'll send for a healer." Sam muttered, his brain busily forming a plan, "We'll get you better my love. You'll be fine." He touched Frodo's cheek lightly, a desperate smile forming between his damp cheeks.

"I don't know if I'm going to be alright Sam." Frodo sighed, "It's worse than ever before. I feel my energy dwindling and I fear my time is running out." Sam sat utterly still, tears leaking from his eyes and running down the collar of his shirt, his chin wobbling as the words sunk in. He stooped over Frodo and kissed the wound lightly, his toughened hands smoothing over the discolored skin,

"No," Sam moaned, grabbing a pillow and throwing it against the wall, "This isn't how it's supposed to happen." Frodo winced as the pillow smacked against the wall and dropped to the floor. "I've been through too much to have you taken from me." Sam said, his words strangled in the midst of tears. "I can't get on without you." He whimpered finally, sinking down onto Frodo's stomach, his face dripping with tears.

Frodo cringed at Sam's words and began combing his fingers through Sam's golden curls, his lip trembling as he struggled to hold back sobs.

"I'm so sorry Sam," Frodo whispered, placing a kiss on the crown of Sam's head, "I'm sorry Sam."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

A week passed after Sam learned Frodo's secret. The two stayed away from each other, talking only when necessary and never about Frodo's health. It was however apparent to them both that Frodo was growing sicker every day. His color had begun to fade dramatically, a grey shadow staining the soft skin below his eyes. He never felt warm or fully awake and his wound was growing ever more painful. Frodo was also beginning to feel very uncomfortable in Bag End. Every time Sam would enter the room he would duck his head and leave as quickly as he could, guilt wrapping around his throat and burning at his eyes. Sam stayed outside mostly, tending to the garden and trying to come up with a plan to save his love. But his work was fruitless and their relationship continued to decline without concealment, until Bilbo arrived home with a proposal.

Bilbo sat in his armchair, cupping his tea and surveying his cousin Frodo. Frodo sat awkwardly on a stool before him, his shoulders slumped forward and his hand playing absentmindedly over his breast.

"How was Rivendell Bilbo?" He asked limply, his large eyes focused somewhere off in the distance. Bilbo took a moment before he answered, his wrinkled face sagging into a deep frown as he thought.

"The elves are well," He answered, taking a sip of tea and scratching his ear, "They asked me how you were fairing." Frodo looked up at his elder cousin and shifted on his seat nervously,

"And what did you say?" Bilbo let out a long sigh and crossed his feet in front of him idly before answering,

"I told them the truth." Frodo scowled at this and hunched forward further, his elbows resting on his knees as he eyed the floor. "They gave me a message for you Frodo." Bilbo said earnestly, his creased face heavy with gloom. Frodo tilted his head up but did not answer, instead pressing his lips into a firm line while he waited for the news. "Elrond wanted me to offer you something," Bilbo began, his voice calm and even, "He wants you to come with us in the fall to the Grey Havens." At his words, Frodo shut his eyes, something in him knowing that this would mean the end. No one who set out to the Grey Havens ever returned. Frodo then came to the painful understanding that he would have to leave Sam behind forever if he was to be free of his pain. Bilbo scooted forward in the chair and set his tea cup on the table beside him before reaching out and patted Frodo's shoulder tenderly. "You'd be free of it Frodo." Frodo swallowed thickly, his hands pressed to his eyes as he thought of Sam's crooked grin and rough grasp. "And so would Sam." Bilbo's voice trailed off, his gaze wise yet terribly weary. Frodo sniffed and wiped away a stray tear,

"Yes," He whispered, looking up at Bilbo's aged face, "I suppose you're right."

Later that evening Frodo went out to the front steps, where he sat watching as Sam ripped weeds from the lush earth. His strong hands working tirelessly, grunting as he tugged at the roots, Sam wiped his forehead with the back of a soiled hand and simultaneously caught sight of Frodo. The grey dusk air chilled Frodo, summer burning on its last few embers of warmth. He wrapped his arms around himself as Sam strode toward him through the fading light.

"What're you doin' out here?" Sam asked shortly, his mouth downturned and his gaze steely. Frodo sighed and swatted at a bug, buzzing around his pointed ear,

"Can't I just sit outside for a while? Or am I too fragile to do even that?" Sam placed his hands on his hips and stepped awkwardly closer, his mouth working to find the words.

"Now ya' know that's not what I meant." Frodo looked up at Sam, his blue eyes watery and tired in the vanishing daylight.

"Bilbo wants me to go to the Grey Havens Sam." Sam's frown deepened and he turned slightly away, rubbing the back of his neck in silence for a few moments.

"What's that have to do with me Frodo?" His voice was low and gravelly as tried to restrain tears, shock invading every area of his being.

"I want you to take me Sam." Frodo whispered urgently, craning his neck to see Sam's response to the proposition. Sam was deadly still, his great brown eyes watering violently as he looked down at Hobbiton from the hill.

"I can't do that Frodo." Sam breathed, clumsily wiping a tear from his cheek, leaving a smear of dirt behind. "I can't journey out with you again and lie awake through the night wonderin' if in the mornin' I'll find ye' dead beside me." He turned toward Frodo, his jaw set in defiance while his chin betrayed him as it wobbled in grief. Frodo's face fell, the hope in his eyes extinguished by Sam's bitter tone.

"I need you Sam," He muttered softly, reaching out and cradling his hand, "Please." Sam withdrew his hand from Frodo's grasp and shook his head, his golden curls bouncing in the breeze.

"Go inside Frodo," Sam said despondently, turning to go back to his work, "You'll catch a chill." Frodo sat on the step stubbornly, tears brimming in his eyes,

"And what if I do?" Frodo called to Sam crossly, "What difference will it make? I'm going to die anyways." Sam stopped walking and stood where he was, rooted to the spot.

"Don't say that." He said lamely, turning back toward Frodo, tears spilling from his eyes as his hands curled into tight fists. Frodo narrowed his eyes and remained seated, his body shaking fiercely in the cold, his dark curls dancing in another gust of wind.

"I'm dying." Frodo spat, his face falling little by little as he realized the truth in his own words. Sam marched towards him, his lips contorting in pain, his hand lifted and finger poised in accusation.

"Go inside!" Frodo's eyes snapped open at the harshness of Sam's words; his delicate hands flitted to the stone below him,

"Fine." Frodo breathed frigidly, deliberately pushing himself off the step, his knees trembling beneath his weight and his face blanching as he stubbornly remained eye contact with Sam. As he turned to go inside he collapsed onto the stone, his back heaving as he gasped for air, crumpled on all fours. Sam rushed over to him and knelt down, his hands darting about uncertainly, his face drawn into a stiff grimace. Frodo turned to face Sam, his brows contracted in pain as he clutched his chest,

"Please." Frodo uttered, his body shivering under Sam's delicate touch as his mouth opened and he let out a small groan. Sam slung Frodo's arm around his neck and grunted as he lifted the frail hobbit into his arms. He hurried into the bedroom and lay Frodo down on the bed gently, smoothing his hands over Frodo's warm face.

"I'll do it," Sam whispered sadly, Frodo rubbing the sore spot on his chest with a feeble hand, "I'll take ye'." Frodo smiled weakly and brushed his hand against Sam's cheek,

"I love you Sam."

The two hobbits packed their bags in silence Frodo's brow knit tightly in concentration as he folded only a few clothes, seeing no need for excess if he would not return. Sam finished shoving the last pair of trousers into his pack and slowly dropped it to the floor, gazing over at Frodo's slight form. The fair hobbit's hands shook as he stowed away his wetskit and pulled the drawstrings tight. Frodo leaned onto the dresser, his hand absentmindedly reaching to his chest where it fondled his tender wound. Sam stepped towards Frodo, wanting to say something that would chase away his fears, that would pierce through his sadness, that would express his absolute love. When he could find no words in his native tongue that applied he simply took Frodo's hand away from his chest and held it in his coarse palms. Sam stepped closer and brought it to his mouth where he placed a pure kiss on the trembling extremity.

"Let's go then, love." Frodo nodded at this and cast a sad look around his room, his tired eyes watering at the familiar sights.

"So many memories," He said quietly, his own hand crawling up Sam's chest, "I don't want to leave them." Sam chuckled grimly and looped his arms around Frodo's slender body,

"Well o' course you don't. But it doesn't end here, there's more memories to be made." Frodo looked back to Sam, his lips parted delicately in protest,

"Not for us I'm afraid." Sam grimaced at this and nodded, Frodo suddenly burying his face against Sam's chest. Reluctant to let him leave, Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo tighter and nuzzled into his thick curls, breathing in the known scent of his love. Forlornly, Sam leaned in and placed a light kiss on Frodo's cheek, squeezing his eyes shut in order to focus on memorizing the feel of his skin, the speed of his breath, the tickle of his hair. Frodo pulled away and stared up into Sam's brown, watering eyes. He raised onto his tip-toes and placed a gentle kiss on Sam's lips before he pulled away and linked hands, leading them both from Bag End into what laid beyond.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The company had been journeying for several days and soon the familiar lands of the Shire began to fade into the distance. On the seventh day of their march the group came to rest before the river Lune where they set up camp and rested before the next day's voyage. Bilbo's chin bobbed down against his chest where he sat in front of the campfire, his bare feet warming near the crackling logs. Gandalf chuckled softly as he surveyed the drowsing hobbit from beneath his large grey eyebrows and puffed thoughtfully on his long pipe. Soon Merry and Pippin too fell into sleep before the fire, the flames casting strange shadows on their creamy skin as they slept. Merry's face twisted into a tranquil smile as he snuggled closer to his cousin and let out a long sigh, no doubt already consumed by dreams of treasure or of glorious, far off lands. Elrond and the other elves roamed loftily between the trees, talking in hushed whispers as they strolled farther from the campground, the melodic phrasing of their native tongue winding through the cool September air. Frodo and Sam walked noiselessly among the trees, a fair distance from the camp, towards a meadow not far off. Both of the hobbits were painfully aware that this was their last night together as they would reach the Grey Havens by tomorrow eve. Their toughened feet tread over soft blue flowers as they reached the field, tall, dry grasses coming to their waists as they proceed on. Finally, Frodo, who had been leading them both, stopped. Sam came to an abrupt halt behind him, caught unawares in his profound train of thought.

"I don't know what to say, Sam." Frodo whispered, his hands idly brushing over the tops of the waving grass, his pale skin gleaming like a polished pearl in the curling beams of moonlight. Sam looked out across the flowing blades, ebbing in the breeze like the waves of a golden sea tumbling back to shore.

"There's no need to say anything, Frodo." Sam responded faintly, the gravity of this meeting seeming like a long dreaded dream, distant and unsure. Frodo turned towards Sam, no sadness etching into the fine lines that dusted his brow, serenity spread evenly over his features, as if he knew his well deserved rest was not far off.

"No, Sam," Frodo answered tenderly, wrapping his arms around him and resting his cheek against Sam's shoulder, "I don't know how to say goodbye to you." The reply stung Sam, his eyes closing as he frowned against the truth, an ache permeating his wandering mind. Sam tied his arms around Frodo, squeezing him tight against his own form, a solid quietness spreading throughout his body.

"Don't say it," Sam muttered into Frodo's hair, his hands stroking down the fair hobbits back, "You'll always be a part of me I'm afraid." He pulled away and looked down at Frodo who had a dim smile between his lips though his brow was furrowed in concern, "I've loved you for as long as I can remember and I reckon that isn't easily forgot. I'll see you again," Sam breathed, his hand gruffly wiping away a budding tear, "Whether it's in the Shire or in the Undying Lands." Frodo nodded solemnly and kissed Sam fleetingly on the mouth, night breeze heavy on his lips. Sam gently kissed him back but then gradually, kissed more fervently, desperate for his touch one last time. He traced Frodo's figure with hungry hands, searching the terrain, recalling lost tales and sweet moments with his frantic fingers. Frodo sighed softly as Sam lay him down in the bed of golden grass and knelt next to him. The wind blew Sam's blonde curls across his temple as he looked down into Frodo's wide, enduring eyes. Sam kissed Frodo's skin, down his bared chest, across his darkening wound, hoping that he could seal his love for Frodo in those simple kisses. He looked up at Frodo and kissed his smooth forehead, his hands undoing his belt simultaneously, a smile boldly sat upon Frodo's lips and a light blush painted his cheeks. Another light burst of wind rustled through the blades of grass and washed over their bare skin, causing the hairs on Sam's arms to stand up on end, vitality seeming to burst forth within him at the earth's gentle caress. Sam leaned forward and murmured into Frodo's ear,

"You are so beautiful", as his own heart began to twinge with the bitter sweetness of their love making. Sam entered Frodo suddenly, and shut his eyes, the loveliness of the moment enrapturing him,

"I love you Frodo." Sam uttered as he pulsed forward, his breath coming quicker in the dark night, the moon beaming down upon the two, the smell of earth and sweat heavy in the air. Frodo's eyes opened, his eyes sparkling as they reflected the stars that glinted down from above,

"I love you." He agreed resolutely as his eyes fluttered shut and he was swallowed up into the bliss of being one with his love.

Frodo stepped forward and kissed Merry's wrinkled brow, smiling reassuringly at him as he moved down the line to Pippin.

"Oh Frodo," Pippin sobbed as he pulled Frodo into an embrace, his back shaking as he coughed on his tears, "I'll miss you so." Frodo kissed his cheek tenderly and gripped his hand,

"I'll miss you as well Pippin." He squeezed his friend's hand once more and then moved to the last member of the line. Sam stood his eyes downcast and his hands clasped in front of him as he mutely wept. Frodo took his hand and tilted up his chin as Sam had done to him so often before. Frodo gazed into Sam's rich brown eyes mournfully for a moment,

"Sam," Frodo started, his voice barely audible as it mixed with the churning waves of the harbor,

"I want you to go home and be happy. I want you to marry that Rosie Cotton and live a long, full, blessed life with her." Sam sobbed and bowed his head again, reaching to his temple with his free hand. "For the both of us. And promise me," Frodo said sternly, throwing his arms around Sam, "That you'll always know that I love you." Frodo came close and touched his lips to the crown of Sam's head for a long moment and then pulled away. "This isn't the end for us, love. Just another journey into the unknown." Sam looked up with watering eyes, his face reddened and blotchy from tears. He stared as Frodo walked down the port to the fine elven ship, his chin trembling with sadness as he watched from afar. Frodo stepped onto the exquisitely crafted boat and strode to the side, his hands resting on the smooth ship's wall as he looked out at Sam. The vessel began to move away from port, slowly trailing over the glasslike water towards the sea. Sam shuffled forward several steps, his eyes pleading silently as he gazed out at his departing love. Frodo stood still, the sea's wind ruffling his hair as he smiled comfortingly back at Sam and lifted a lithe hand in farewell. Sobs choked Sam as he waved back and then buried his round face in his palms, the cries of gulls drowning out his sorrow.

There Sam stood, hushed and motionless until darkness came and all but Pippin and Merry had left for sleep. The ship had long before glided out into the grey sea, carrying along with it Frodo, yet he remained, scanning the horizon for any sign of his love, any hope that he might see him again. The three stood together, huddled as they each felt a bout of loss crash over them as the grey tides washed over the shores of Middle Earth. The setting sun was almost lost behind the mountains of the West but its few lingering beams reflected against Sam's wet face.

"We'll see 'im again," Sam muttered, Pippin and Merry raising their heads towards him as he spoke in a low, peaceful tone, "Maybe not this day, or the next. But this isn't it." Sam searched the horizon one last time and then turned reluctantly away, "This isn't the end." And with that Sam headed off, away from the Grey Havens and like his love, into the unknown.


End file.
